54. Milana
MILANA
As soon as Luca and Masha walk back into the cabin, I know nobody is changing Masha’s mind tonight.
Luca might have tried, but she’s dragged him over to her side.
Even if it wrecks him, she has him in her court.
I still don’t know what’s in the godforsaken cooler box in the trunk, but he shakes his head at me, a barely perceptible gesture not to ask.
I take in his clenched jaw, his bloodshot eyes.
He’s in pain too, but this is beyond physical.
“We need to stage this as I planned,” Masha says as she walks up to me. “I don’t want them to think it was suicide. If we make them believe these two killed me, and some other Bratva killed them in turn, they could war over what happened here for years.”
At her words, my heart bleeds, my soul running empty of all my childhood joy, but my head understands. “Masha—”
“Where’s Zoe?” Luca asks. “Is she ready? And her things? All packed? We can’t leave the baby bag behind.”
“She’s sleeping,” I say, standing between them and the door leading to the adjacent room. We have so little, there’s nothing much to take. “Do you want to see her, say good—” I choke up.
“No. She won’t miss me, and I said goodbye to her already.
So many times.” Masha squeezes my wrist, but I can’t stop my tears.
“She was never mine, Milana. Just keep playing those beautiful piano pieces for her, you know the ones she loved? It will be our eternal bond as we listened to you together. I missed listening to you play.”
“Yes,” I manage, but I am an emotional wreck. Those pieces will now always be a double-edged sword.
Luca limps around the room and finds the two guns I’d placed on the shelf. He checks the magazines and puts one back.
“Princess.” He looks up, exhales. “You need to step outside.”
He’s actually going to do this. My husband would do this horrible thing to spare Masha. To spare me.
My stomach turns; I’m a trapped animal.
But the reality is that keeping Masha alive will only open her up to more torment. This is a necessary coup de grace, the same as Ivan delivered to Dimitri.
I see it now. Ivan and Dimitri. The final fight in my music room. Dimitri’s blood all over the Steinway. Every emotion my brother must have had in those few minutes seems to burst through me. And one of them is love. Intense love.
Ivan might have killed his best friend because he had to, fighting for his life, but that’s what he told me. Those last few minutes, the last few seconds, were much more complicated than they seemed.
I bet he had the option to keep him alive.
Yuri and Ivan in that room together, Dimitri unarmed when Yuri kicked the gun from his hand.
In that split second, my brother had a choice.
He could have kept Dimitri alive. Used him.
Dangled him like raw meat in front of Chertnikov for years.
They could have broken his body, tortured and maimed him until he was nothing but an emaciated cage for a haunted soul.
A few simple stabs would have immobilized him, but Ivan chose to show his best friend mercy and save him from the only other Bratva alternative.
It was his final act of love for a friend who betrayed him.
And here I am, summoned to help my best friend exact revenge on a man who would have treated me the same way he treated her, if he’d had me in his hold.
It’s the same desire for revenge I’ve been choking on for months, ever since my eyes were opened to the truth behind Dimitri’s attentions and his feigned love for me.
Masha and me. Always of the same mind.
I shudder, and for a few fleeting seconds, memories of Masha and me at this cabin drift through my mind.
Sweet, golden summers spent in this rustic haven away from the real world.
As we swam carefree in the lake. Picked berries in the forest. Always aware of the dangers out there—wolves, bears, moose—but somehow protected by our own innocence and ignorance.
Little did we know the humans would be the biggest threat.
The network our fathers belonged to, the work they did in the cities as our moms escaped with us for a few blissful weeks where we could just be kids.
Memories of seeing her the first time after her abortion and subsequent attack flood my mind, and I can’t go back there. Her suffering has been long enough. Seven years is a long time to beg for death.
Quietly, I pull Chertnikov’s plastic gun from my coat pocket, keeping the muzzle facing the floor.
“I love you,” I whisper to Masha. “I’ll miss you. You’re in my heart, with me forever. Thank you for keeping Annushka safe.”
She nods. “I love you too. Always.”
She looks at Luca now, where he is waiting for me to leave the cabin.
I don’t flinch. I don’t think. “This is my honor,” I whisper as I raise the gun, step up, and shoot her in the forehead, trying to catch her as she slumps. But she’s too heavy, and I let her slide to the floor.
And then, I’m in his arms, sobs tearing through my chest.
He doesn’t hush me, and I feel his chest shudder with his own emotions. He cups my head, keeping me close.
“I couldn’t let you do it.” This was my duty, not his. “I couldn’t let it drag on. I didn’t want her to see it coming.”
“That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Her pain was too much. I—I—” I try to catch my breath, all the emotions overwhelming me.
I don’t know how long we stand like this, entwined as we shatter into pieces, but somehow also growing back together again—this time stronger. Whatever happens next, this night is our mutual heartbreak, triumph, and deadly secret.
“I’ve got you now, my love,” he whispers. “And I vow you’ll never have to shoot a gun again.”
Luca is a man who keeps all the promises he makes, and peace settles over me as I lean against him. This is home now. Wherever he is, it’s my home.
I let go of the weapon, but Luca takes it, his touch so soft as he takes this burden from me.
“We have to go,” he whispers after a few more minutes.
“Annushka—”
“No. No more Annushka. When we put flame to this cabin, that name dies with Masha, understand?”
“Yes.” I look up at him. His eyes are wet with tears, and in his gaze, I read what’s in that cooler box. Oh my God. Her final solution.
“It’s a dead baby, in the cooler box,” I say, my voice cold with horror.
“Yes. I don’t want you to see. Didn’t want you to know—” He breaks off with a shudder.
But now I see everything she planned. Masha is ending this once and for all by staging her death—and my baby’s death—so we can be free.
“Masha explained everything to me. I’ll tell you later, once I’ve made sure everything she told me is true. I don’t want this to come back to haunt us.”
He kisses me then, a kiss to my forehead, to my tears, to my mouth, and it’s as if he is breathing life back into me.
“Let’s go,” he whispers against my forehead. “I’ll grab what we need from here. I also need to find new pants.”
“Okay.” In the other room, I find Zoe awake but not crying. She’s staring into the dark, as if she knows an angel is hovering over her, touching her cheek with a soft caress, keeping her calm.
I go down to my knees, in awe of how my little girl is so quiet and happy, oblivious to the war that raged next door. Thank God.
“Come with us,” I murmur, as if Masha’s spirit is right there.
Then I close my eyes and pray for her soul and the choices she made to save us. I thank God for my daughter and that she’s safe. I pray for the baby taking Zoe’s place. For parents who have lost a child, but who don’t know her grave is empty, or that her body will be saving mine’s life.
I push down my tears as Luca walks in, a lit camp light and backpack in hand.
“Provisions for the next few days,” he says as he puts both on the floor.
“Perfect. Malsyh-malysh-malysh,” I coo as I pick Zoe up. She tracks Luca’s movements, bringing her little fists to her mouth.
“I need to change. I can’t walk around in these bloodied pants.” He has some clothes he must have dug out of the Russians’ backpacks.
I hug Zoe close, watching him strip. “Luca—” The bullet wound in his leg has started bleeding again.
“Later, princess.” He is wrapping a make-shift bandage—a white T-shirt that seems clean from here, torn into strips—around his leg.
“As soon as we’re somewhere safe, we can deal with this.
I’ll get Benedict to send someone to extract us.
I can’t call him now though, because whoever is fetching us can’t make a detour here first.”
I get up and rock Zoe as I wait for him to finish.
“Can you hold her a minute? I need to put on my coat.”
“Sure,” he says, but there’s hesitation in his voice. “I haven’t— I’ve never… I mean, the last time I held a baby was Ben and I was only four, sitting down.” His eyes flush with a mournful look at a beautiful memory. “She’s so small.”
“She’s bigger than when I left, which makes me happy.” I hold her out to him, and in comparison to his broad chest, she seems extra small. “Here, like this. Just support her head a little.”
We change hands under her little armpits and his big hands circle her small back. I watch his face as he looks down at her.
“My perfect little princess,” he whispers, awe in his voice. “She’s so light.” He lifts her to eye level, and he breaks into a smile. “Papa’s little Zoe,” he murmurs, and then he lifts her some more, straightening his arms so she’s higher than his head.
Zoe chortles then squeals, gazing down at him, her feet kicking the air.
I melt.
“Oh my God,” he murmurs, his voice thick as he sways her side to side in the air. Zoe, now wide awake, loves it and seems ready to twist her Papa around her little finger. He meets my gaze. “I…” A smile teases at his lips. “I just fell in love.”
So did I, but it’s a lie. I’ve been in love for weeks now.
He closes his eyes, gathers her to his chest, and hugs her close. His hold is so gentle, so caring, and my heart leaps. Then he nuzzles her with his nose, inhales her sweet baby scent, and presses the most gentle of kisses to her soft brown hair.
He meets my gaze as she clutches at his face. “I’m afraid you just got promoted,” he says, a lightness in his voice.
“To what?”
“My queen.” He turns to me as he settles her in his arms as if he’s held her a thousand times. “And now, behold our princess, Zoe the Magnificent.”